


Use Your Words (daddy can't help if daddy doesn't know)

by copper_marigolds



Category: Trage Liefde, Trage liefde (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't Like Don't Read, Dubious Consent, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Father/Son Incest, Fix-It of Sorts, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 03:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20771618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copper_marigolds/pseuds/copper_marigolds
Summary: Felix is a little more brave. Johan is a little more patient. It doesn't change a lot.





	Use Your Words (daddy can't help if daddy doesn't know)

He hears the motorcycle engine crying out and dying down as it’s pulled to a stop.

With the cold kiss of alcohol still burning on his lips, Johan sneaks a glance at the clock. Two thirty in the morning. Another late night visit.

“What a troublemaker,” he thinks to himself.

Of course, the late night visitor can only be Felix. Johan knew that engine noise by heart already, he learned to pick it out of thousands other city noises.

For some reason the kid is obsessed with him. Well, not exactly a kid, more of a restless young man — it’s just when you’re over forty, everyone in their twenties is a kid to you — and Johan has an inkling of an idea as to what the young man in question might want. Although he can’t fathom why a handsome young lad would choose someone like him to experiment with. After all, Johan must be twice his age, and not much of a looker; his body is out of shape, he has gray in his hair, and he has absolutely nothing to compensate for it.

He would understand if Felix wanted money. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time Johan had to hire an escort to get laid. But no; that scruffy kid watched him with puppy eyes, smitten and lovesick, desperate for attention, nothing else.

It’s flattering, in a way, even if Felix isn’t exactly Johan’s type. There is something about him. The way he looks — lost, infatuated, hopeful, all at the same time. He’s an exposed nerve. He is too much. Raw desire and longing bleed through his every gesture, every sharp glance. He stares at Johan with an intensity no lover has ever graced him with.

Yes, it’s flattering and exciting, to be wanted so badly.

It’s also unnerving to the point of outright creepy sometimes.

Still… Johan is intrigued. What does Felix want from him, exactly? Sex? Romance? He has been giving the kid the cold shoulder, but even Johan’s surly demeanor hasn’t seemed to put an end to this odd fascination.

Maybe it’s time to try another approach.

Smirking, Johan unlocks the door.

“Let him come,” he decides as he turns away from the entrance. “Just one night, and I’ll find out if he sticks around.”

Admittedly, the kid is stubborn. No matter how cold Johan has been acting, he keeps showing up. Frankly, these visits are starting to become a problem. A distraction. Felix hardly ever talks, but his quiet presence is louder than a midnight jazz session; he monopolizes Johan’s attention just by entering the room, no matter how hard Johan tries to ignore him.

It’s time to clear things up.

Unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt, Johan heads deeper into the bar, upstairs, and enters his living quarters. He doesn’t lock the bedroom door either.

A couple of minutes later, he hears footsteps on the creaky stairway.

He’s ready.

* * *

Felix watches his father take the vest off.

He’s hot and delirious after dancing at the club; the ride to the bar has done nothing to calm his nerves, and the sip of brandy he’s stolen from an abandoned glass at the bar does even less.

He unravels his scarf and tosses it aside along with his jacket. He takes off his T-shirt next, exposing himself, and stands there shirtless. Bare. Open. Nothing to hide behind. His heart is beating wildly in his chest; it burns. The music from the club still drums heavily in his ears, or is it his pulse? He can barely breathe.

Johan is in front of him. He’s wearing a white cotton T-shirt under his white cotton dress shirt; layers upon layers, so many obstacles shielding the warm human body underneath.

At least, Felix hopes Johan will be warm to the touch. Because he’s definitely going to touch him.

Is it sick? Perverse? Maybe. Felix can’t find the will to care. He’s drunk on desire, and it’s not even sexual. Not really. All he wants is… to see, touch, taste, to know the man in front of him. His father. A distant enigma. He wants to feel the living breathing man who’s used to slip away, he wants to sense his heartbeat and his warmth, finally, to explore his body with his mouth, to make him squirm, make him lose control. He wants to sink his teeth into his father’s neck and hold him tightly, whispering: _notice me. See me. I’m yours. I’m your flesh and blood. Bestow yourself upon me, __give me all your truths, all of yourself — as eagerly as I surrender myself to you._

Felix takes a breath and licks his lips. He can’t look away from Johan’s face.

Johan waits for him to approach.

Felix steps forward, then again and again. Then, dazed, he pauses for a moment.

This is crazy, isn’t it? Being here, doing this. With his father. His father who doesn’t know who he is. Who doesn’t have a clue he’s not supposed to want him.

Yet, somehow, it adds to the thrill.

Felix grabs the flimsy white fabric and pulls the T-shirt off Johan. Up and away. Johan lifts his arms and lets Felix do whatever he wants.

It doesn’t feel right. It’s not what Felix wants, not really. This, what Johan is doing, is a submission before the unrelenting pursuit, halfhearted, half-hard.

“I’ll make you want me yet,” Felix thinks. A hot knot of nerves twists in his stomach at the thought.

He smirks.

His father smells of sweat and smoke and coffee, the taste of it lingering on his skin after the day of work at the bar. Felix presses his open mouth against his father’s neck and traces a chain of kisses along his jawline, adding his own brandy-soaked breath to the mix.

Tasting. Claiming.

His father shivers in his arms. Felix pulls him closer. It’s almost innocent; a simple embrace. A hug. It’s almost enough.

Almost.

Which is the same as not at all.

They’re so close he can feel his father’s cock twitch, and his own body responds with the heat of blood rushing down to produce a matching response.

His father’s hands are heavy on his shoulders.

He’s not really turned on in any normal sense of the word. This is a different kind of physicality. There is no lust, no urgency, no burning need. His mind is crystal clear; he realizes with perfect clarity what he is about to do. Even though he’s hard — spasming with want — it’s not arousal. Not any normal kind.

There is a dreadful chilling pit in his stomach and a cold lump in his throat, as if he has swallowed a snowball whole. His body feels disconnected: below the belt there’s only fire, while his upper body is freezing cold. Exposed. Like a snail out of its shell. Skinned alive, helpless, defenseless, homeless, an open wound.

Is this what he really wants?

Johan goes for a kiss, and suddenly Felix can’t do it anymore. He stumbles back, pushing his father’s hands off his chest. Johan takes it as an invitation to touch him instead and follows the motion, traces a hand down Felix’s stomach. And, fuck, it feels good. His hand is warm, calloused but skillfully tender, putting pressure in all the right places.

Felix sways forward, unable to resist the numbingly pleasant sensation. He rocks into the touch and falls back into the trap of his father’s embrace.

Felix trembles. He wants it. Fuck, he really wants it.

He also knows that if they do this right now — if they are to have sex — this will be all he can ever get. Johan will write him off as a one-night stand. That’s… not enough.

Felix wants — he really wants — this, but also — everything else. He wants a connection, a meaningful one; he wants to be wanted, chased, cherished. He wants to swap stories and listen to records together, he wants to show off his motocross riding, he wants kisses and hugs and praise. He wants to see Johan beam with pride at him. He wants to be special.

When Johan tries to kiss him again, Felix retreats. He pulls away, putting his father at an arm’s length, soothing Johan’s confusion with an apologetic grimace that doesn’t deserve to be called a smile.

The truth is… Felix can’t decide.

Because Felix is drunk at the sight of him. He must be crazy, because Johan isn’t beautiful. Johan is hairy and fleshy, squishy, flabby with age and too many drinks.

Felix can’t resist touching him anyway, grinning like a madman all the while.

He traces his father’s collarbones, explores his chest with a wandering hand. Johan waits patiently through all that, although Felix can tell he’s not happy with the delay.

Because Johan wants it, too.

It’s a hollow victory, this sudden realization, but a victory nonetheless. Johan wants him; still cautious, guarded, still wearing a stern expression on his face, but even so — Johan can’t hide his desire when his pupils are blown so wide and his hands are shaking.

So Felix takes his father’s hands and guides them back to him.

Johan tries a tentative caress on the small of his back. It’s nice. It’s so fucking nice.

Then Johan lunges forward suddenly, almost managing to steal a kiss, and Felix can’t. He really can’t do it anymore. No, this time for real, he absolutely cannot let it continue.

It’s too much, it’s not enough, and his heart is shattering into stardust with every breath he takes.

This is not what he wants. No, not this. Not at all.

It can’t be.

Felix backs away slowly, trying not to cry as he forces a smile. Johan’s dick is so hard the bulge in his pants bears a small damp stain; he must be already leaking. What a shame that magnificent dick cannot fill the hole in Felix’s soul, because it would be really nice to have it fill his body.

He grabs his clothes off the floor.

Johan doesn’t stop him. Johan just watches him back away, confused.

On some level, Felix doesn’t understand himself either. What more does he want? What could he possibly want, if not this? That man is not going to give him anything else. Why not take what little he can get? Whatever hope for the tiniest glimpse of recognition in his father’s eyes he have had before, it’s impossible now. Either Johan doesn’t have a clue he exists, or he doesn’t care enough to remember.

It’s pointless. It’s all pointless.

As Felix heads for the stairs, he glances back at his father. The temptation to damn it all, to stay the night and get the only glimpse of love he can get… it’s strong. Almost too strong.

Almost.

He forces himself to look away and leave. Down, down, down, step by step, keep going, no more looking back.

He needs to leave this place. This bar. This fucking city.

* * *

The plan works and it doesn’t.

Johan catches himself glancing out the windows of his bar. He catches himself perking up at the sound of a passing motorcycle. He catches himself waiting… hoping.

The day comes and goes. Nothing happens.

He banters with the regulars. He feeds the neighbors’ kid some candy. He peels an apple for lunch and eats it alone in the backyard.

The day is over all too soon, and the night follows.

There are no scruffy bikers waiting in the parking lot, no footsteps at the creaky stairway.

Johan should be relieved that bothersome kid left him alone. He should be happy.

He sits alone in his bedroom and he watches the clock tick away the time.

He falls asleep in his clothes, minutes before dawn.

* * *

“This isn’t love,” Felix reminds himself.

He packs his things.

“I’m crazy,” he thinks. “I’m fucked up.”

The stupid metal case lid doesn’t close. It doesn’t fit. There is too much baggage.

Felix sighs and takes a sip of his coffee. It tastes nothing like the kind of espresso Johan serves at the bar, no, it tastes nothing like that, but it smells like him.

“I really should have told him the truth,” Felix thinks as he takes another sip.

The coffee is bitter and cold. It’s everything Felix feels, distilled into a single cup.

He can’t stop thinking about Johan. His hands on his waist, his body heat radiating, melting into him. What it felt like to be embraced, to be desired.

It’s not love, but, opposed to nothing, it is… something.

It’s something Felix can’t let go.

The cup doesn’t break at first when he attempts to slam it against the floor. He kicks it with masochistic determination, smashes it against the metal worktable and steps on the shards, heavy, unrelenting, until everything is broken beyond repair.

He has to try. Just one more time, his last try to tell Johan the truth before he leaves it all behind for good.

He has to be certain it’s really hopeless.

He has to know.

* * *

Two days later, just when Johan has started thinking that’s it, the end of the odd affair, Felix shows up again.

Johan is alone, polishing glasses at the bar. The time is stuck around four in the morning; it’s more “too early” than “too late” to be working, but Johan can’t sleep anyway.

The bar is quiet.

There is no warning signal when the door opens, no engine roar halting to a stop. Felix just walks in, and at first Johan thinks it’s a dream.

Johan blinks. Felix is still there, on his doorstep. He’s wild-eyed and pale as a sheet, shaking, nervous. He doesn’t step further into the bar, just lingers at the door, eyeing him, breathing heavily.

Johan pours two glasses of water and slides one toward Felix.

“Got anything stronger?” Felix asks. His voice is husky, shaky. It must be the first thing he has said directly to Johan after the broken record incident.

“What would you like?” Johan asks in return.

Felix shrugs, but he walks up closer to the bar and takes off his scarf, then his jacket.

All of a sudden his mouth is very dry, and Johan has to take a sip of water.

Felix shuffles through his pockets for a cigarette. When he takes out a pack, it’s empty. He laughs, then glances at Johan.

“No,” Johan says. “Not this time.”

“Don’t like kissing smokers?”

“Do you?”

“Take one.” Felix nods at the cigarette display. “Let’s find out.”

“Are you trying to rob me or sleep with me?” Johan asks.

“Does it have to be either?”

“Could be both. Not my first time around the block.”

Felix laughs again. Johan likes his laughter. It’s terrifying, actually, how good it feels to share the darkened room with him, how easy it is to flirt with him, how fast he’s swayed by the stubborn kid’s charm.

It’s terrifying, because Johan catches himself craving it. Needing it.

He turns away and grabs the key to the cigarette display. When he reaches up to open it, though, Felix stops him.

“Don’t. That’s not why I’m here.”

Johan pockets the key and turns around to face him.

“So why are you here?”

“Because,” Felix swallows. “I… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Johan cocks up an eyebrow. Felix doesn’t say anything else, instead he fondles the empty cigarette pack, crumbling it into a ball.

Johan walks up to him and takes the paper ball away.

“Do you want to take this conversation upstairs?” he asks in a low voice.

“What if I do?” Felix echoes quietly. He doesn’t look at Johan, now fiddling with his thumbs instead.

Johan throws the paper ball into the trash.

“Go on.”

“Do you even like me?” Felix asks suddenly, glancing up. “Or would you sleep with anyone who asked nicely?”

“I don’t recall you asking nicely,” Johan says.

“Fuck you.”

“See. Nothing nice about that.”

Felix gets up and grabs him by the collar.

“Is this nicer?” he whispers into Johan’s mouth, pressing against him. “Do you want me now?”

“Upstairs,” Johan says calmly.

Felix kisses him.

* * *

The worst part is that it feels good. It feels really good. Johan takes his time preparing him; infuriatingly slow, he works his fingers into Felix, kissing behind the ear, his neck, his back, puts a reassuring hand caressing circles into the small of his back.

“I really should have told him,” Felix thinks.

Then Johan slides his dick into his ass, and Felix doesn’t think anything anymore.

“You want it slow, or you want it rough?” Johan whispers into his ear.

“Rough,” Felix whispers back, squeezes his eyes shut. “Daddy…”

Johan grabs his hair and pushes his face into the mattress.

It feels so fucking good.

* * *

Johan comes first.

He didn’t mean to; he wanted to make it last, to make the kid feel good. He tried. He played along, he moaned and called him a good boy when Felix called him daddy.

He got carried away.

Because… it was the best sex he’d had in years. Passionate. Genuine. Insane.

It was horrible, because it burned so bright in comparison with the rest of Johan’s dull gray life, all his arranged encounters, burned the brightest in stark contrast against the mind-numbing comfortable apathy.

This borderline desperate desire that Felix has awoken in him is truly terrifying.

Felix stirs and gets up from the bed on wobbly legs. He’s beautiful. The sight of his naked form is a feast for Johan’s eyes. He hasn’t had a drop of liquor all day, but he feels drunk.

“Stay,” Johan asks, patting the bed next to him.

Felix looks back. He’s trembling; his eyes are glassy and lost.

Johan sits up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Felix says quietly. “I can’t…”

“Hey. Come here.”

“I feel like I might throw up,” Felix warns, but approaches him obediently.

Johan smiles.

“Lie down. I’ll help.”

“No,” Felix objects, even though his dick is hard and it twitches when exposed to Johan’s breath. “There’s no need for that. I don’t want it.”

“What do you want?” Johan asks.

“I… don’t know.”

Johan looks up into his eyes.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asks. Felix nods, and Johan puts his hands on his hips, pulling him a little closer. “Where? Show me.”

To his surprise, Felix takes his hand and guides it up to his chest. Johan feels his heartbeat echoing throughout his body, fast and strong. Excited. Scared.

“You’re beautiful,” Johan says.

Felix sobs and bites down a moan when Johan licks him. So Johan licks him again, and Felix drops his hands to his head, grabs his hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” Johan smirks.

“Fuck,” Felix moans again, his dick pulsing under Johan’s tongue. “I’m… You’re my f—”

Johan takes him into his mouth, and Felix chokes on his words, folding onto himself with a groan. It doesn’t take much for him to come undone; Johan sucks him gently, just the tip, but Felix cries out and comes within seconds.

Then Felix falls to his knees and drops his head into Johan’s lap.

“Shh,” Johan pets his hair. “It’s okay. I figured it’s your first time with a guy. It’s fine. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Felix sobs and laughs through the tears streaming down his face.

“Stay the night,” Johan says. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. You can smoke if you want to.”

“I want to die,” Felix says. “I want to climb to the top of the radio tower and jump, and never think about you again.”

Johan shrugs.

“It’s your life, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Death is… messy.”

“Shut up,” Felix winces, sliding away from Johan’s lap. He sits on the floor, leans back against the bed. “You have no idea. You don’t know anything.”

“And what do you know, hmm?” Johan sizes him up, skeptical. “You’re what, twenty?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Still a kid.” Johan sighs. “But it’s good that you’re trying to figure yourself out as soon as possible. When I was your age, I was miserable. Hell, I was worse. Pretended to be straight, dated women… hated my life. If it wasn’t for Anthony… I don’t know where I’d be now. Six feet under, perhaps."

Felix straightens up.

“Do you remember any of them? Those women you dated.”

“No,” Johan says honestly.

“Not a single one?”

“Not really. My life was a lie back then. Old lies are the same as old truths — better left forgotten.”

“And…” Felix frowns. “You never regret it? That you never married, never had a family… children."

“I had Anthony.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes.” Johan smiles. “Jealous?”

“I think I’d kill him if he wasn’t dead already,” Felix says. His eyes are dark, and his tone is serious.

Johan shakes his head.

“There’s something very wrong with you, kid.”

“Yes,” Felix responds easily. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Johan puts his hand on the kid’s cheek and leans down. Felix steals a kiss greedily, grabbing him by the shoulders; they both tumble down to the floor.

They kiss and kiss, holding onto each other, and finally Felix lets Johan cuddle him from behind. It’s not very comfortable on the floor, but Johan can’t be bothered. Felix is soft and warm, secure in his arms. His hair smells of soap and sweat.

“I meant it, by the way. Stay with me,” Johan says. Begs. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Felix pauses, shifts a little. “You’ll get bored of me.”

“You first.”

“Maybe.”

It kinda hurts, but Johan smirks.

“So, stay until you’re bored. I don’t mind.” Even though he does. Right now, he wants Felix forever. He’d never admit it out loud, of course. Admitting things out loud is dangerous, it’s an invitation for the fate to come and take what he loves away. “For as long as it lasts, I’ll take it.”

Felix turns around to look him in the eyes.

“There is something I want to tell you…”

“Hey, now, kid. It’s too early for love confessions. Let’s take things slow, okay?”

Felix watches him for a long intense moment. Johan reaches out, treads a hand through his hair, smiles.

Felix closes his eyes.

“Actually… the truth is…” he licks his lips, then opens his eyes again to look at Johan. Johan waits for him to finish the thought. Felix sighs. “I’m going away for a few months. Traveling. That’s… it. That’s what I wanted to tell you."

Johan blinks.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. That’s all.”

Johan sits up and stares at the young man in front of him. A beautiful mess. An enigma. He makes him feel alive.

“You could come with me, you know,” Felix says. Johan can’t look away from his dark pleading eyes. “Get far away from all of this. Don’t you want to?”

A part of Johan aches to say yes.

“No,” he says. “Where? You’re out of your mind. I can’t just abandon everything and elope with you. We barely know each other. Everyone will think you have kidnapped me. Irma already calls you my stalker.”

“So?” Felix props his head up with an elbow. “To hell with everyone.”

“No. This is exactly how people disappear. They fall for an organ harvester, they agree to go on a shady trip, and then they’re never seen again.”

“Do you care?”

“Yes.” No. “Where are we going anyway?”

“To hell.” Felix smirks. “As for traveling — wherever. Forward, I don’t know. Germany. Mongolia. I don’t care. I want a break from this place.”

“Wonderful.”

Johan lies down on his back. Felix shuffles closer, touches him, glides a circle around his belly button with two fingers. It tickles.

“I have a spare bike,” Felix says quietly. “It’s an older model, slower, but in a good shape. I’ll take care of everything. Just come with me.”

Johan looks at the ceiling.

“You understand how crazy it sounds, right?”

“More than you do,” Felix chuckles. “So? Do you want it or not?”

“I like my life here, you know. Or, at least… I don’t hate it.”

“Yes or no?”

Johan closes his eyes.

“Yes.”

* * *

Felix smiles when he wakes up in Johan’s bed in the morning.

Sunlight is streaming through the window. Johan isn’t here, but the bed is still warm, and there’s a cup of steaming hot coffee along with a croissant on the side table.

Felix takes a sip of the coffee. It’s nice. He doesn’t mind the bitter taste when it’s hot. He doesn’t hate it.

Yeah. At least he doesn’t hate it.

Almost.


End file.
